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CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR: 

students’ topical history chart 

A BUNCH OF WILD FLOWERS FOR THE 
CHILDREN 

HEROES OF HISTORY 
YOUNG PEOPLE’S STORY OF ART 
YOUNG PEOPLE’S STORY OF MUSIC 
YOUNG PEOPLE’S STORY OF AMERICAN 
LITERATURE 



















































. 































































CAROL IN BIRDLAND 















CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


BY 

IDA PRENTICE WHITCOMB 


ILLUSTRATED BY 
EUNICE H. STEPHENSON 


“Bird-love and bird-song 
Flying here and there.” 

—Tennyson 



NEW YORK 

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
1924 



Copyright, 1924, 

By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, Inc. 


PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. BY 

®be <Suinn & Wobtn Compaq* 

BOOK MANUFACTURERS 
RAHWAY NEW JERSEY 


SEP 20 

©C1A801935 

| 








To a little bird-loving maiden.— Hope. 













FOREWORD 


I N far-away magical ages an immense mass of 
tradition clustered about the beginnings of 
history, and this has followed in its wake, 
century by century, always trying to link 
real and fabulous. Legends grow with literature, 
and among them are many relating to the “Winged 
Folk,” soaring above the clouds, floating through 
the air, darting among the trees—legends not so 
well known as those on other subjects. 

In the following pages I have created some typ¬ 
ical “Birds of the Ages” supposed to have existed 
from earliest times—each one belonging to a spe¬ 
cial family and made to chitter and warble of its 
family legend. In doing this a precedent has been 
followed, for even from fabulous ages Folkland 
has made birds talk and act—thus interlinking the 
characteristics of the two. 

I dedicate these tales to nature-loving little 
people who are devoted to fairy stories and who 


FOREWORD 


viii 

are not so familiar with bird-lore as with other 
myths. Very pleasing fancies belong to these tiny 
impressionists—fancies that easily appeal to the 
imagination of children—for does anything hold 
a child like a story? Perhaps reading them 
may induce a new, live interest in the science and 
natural history of bird-life that in themselves some¬ 
times seem dull. 

To bird-lore are added bits from some of the 
exquisite poems that Folkland has inscribed to 
these fantastic minstrels, for one has said: 

“The loveliest things in this world of ours 
Are the ways and the songs of birds,” 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Inquisitive Little Carol 

. . . i 

The Convention Opened 

. . . . 4 

Aspiring Jenny Wren . 

. . . , 6 

Friendly Robin 

. . . . 16 

Moping Owl .... 

. . . . 22 

Twittering Swallow 

. . . . 29 

Gabbling Goose 

. . . . 35 

Soaring Skylark 

. . . . 41 

Sturdy Woodpecker 

. . . . 48 

Musical Nightingale 

. . . . 54 

Kingly Eagle .... 

. . . . 63 

Good-by to Carol . 

. . . . 76 


























ILLUSTRATIONS 


Carol in Birdland. Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

Chairman of the Convention.4 

'Aspiring Jenny Wren.6 

Friendly Robin. 16 

Moping Owl.22 

Twittering Swallow.30 

Gabbling Goose.36 

Soaring Skylark.42 

Sturdy Woodpecker.48 

Musical Nightingale.54 

Kingly Eagle.64 

Good-by.78 
















CAROL IN BIRDLAND 




$ 







CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


INQUISITIVE LITTLE CAROL 

O NCE there was a poetic, inquisitive little 
maiden whose name was Carol, and she 
loved birds and fairies. She had learned 
the habits and notes of a few songsters 
and was always eager to know more. 

One day she was sitting on a mossy bank listen¬ 
ing to the pipings overhead, for there was an un¬ 
usual racket in the trees. Suddenly something 
happened as things will happen in fairy stories. 
I should have said at the beginning that this is to 
be a fairy story. As Carol sat there she saw danc¬ 
ing across the fields, coming swiftly towards her, 
a most picturesque little creature with a red coat, 
long pointed cap, and winged shoes. It goes with¬ 
out saying that it carried a wand surmounted by 
a glittering star. 


2 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


Carol knew that it must be a fairy, for it looked 
so exactly as it ought to look and so bewitching, 
too, that the little fairy-lover forgot to be fright¬ 
ened. As it reached her it bobbed the funniest 
curtsey, and then in sweetest, most winning tones 
it spoke: 

“Have you heard the historic ‘Birds of the Ages’ 
making a great hubbub in the trees 1 ? The charac¬ 
teristic of these birds is that they have presided 
over the doings of their special families since the 
beginning of time, and for centuries a dispute has 
been going on among them as to which is really 
King, and it has grown so insistent that they have 
resolved to hold a Convention to decide. 

“Each one is to chirrup, not of its humdrum daily 
life, but of the quaint fancies and legends of its 
family. Then a vote will be taken as to which 
one is best fitted for the great honor. These birds 
naturally have curious, far-seeing eyes, and they 
have watched you, Carol, as day after day you 
have gazed up listening to their chitter. They 
feel sure that you are interested, and so they have 


INQUISITIVE LITTLE CAROL 3 

sent me to invite you to be present at their Con¬ 
vention to listen to their debates.” 

Then touching Carol with its wand, the fairy 
bobbed another curtsey and disappeared. The 
bewildered child, looking up, found herself in an 
enchanted grove. It was overarched by the bluest 
sky she had ever seen—trees filled with birds were 
glorified in the sunshine. Indeed, everything was 
sparkling. It was like a marvelous and mysterious 
place—it was fairy-land and the strangest thing 
in this wonder-world was that by the touch of the 
fairy’s wand the spirit of Birdland had so de¬ 
scended upon Carol that she not only heard but un¬ 
derstood the twitter and warbling of the feathered 
folk. They were discussing matters to be brought 
before the Convention about to open, but there 
was no Chairman, and just as in human Conven¬ 
tions, each one wished to appear first. It reminded 
Carol of an orchestra tuning up for a concert. 
She looked and listened and was perfectly fas* 
cinated. 


THE CONVENTION OPENED 


5 UDDENLY a clanging wing was heard, 
and there alighted on the one naked branch 
at the top of a tall pine tree a lordly Eagle. 
Its great body, alert eyes, powerful talons, 
and pinions spread revealed the majestic bearing 
of one claiming to be Monarch of the skies. 

A sudden silence fell upon all—there was not 
even a chirp or a whistle. Then in stentorian 
notes the Eagle announced : 

“You need a Chairman—I will preside—the 
petty twitter of low-flying birds does not usually 
interest me, but sometimes gossip grows too in¬ 
sistent, and when as to-day a serious question is at 
stake, I must assert myself. 

“I have heard many rumors about my disputed 
Kingship, and while I was hesitating what action 
to take, a good fairy told me that you had called 
a Convention to discuss the subject in a legendary 
way in order to decide who is most fit to rule. 


CHAIRMAN OF THE CONVENTION 






THE CONVENTION OPENED 5 


She begged me to hasten to meet my challenge, so 
I have left my darling eaglets and swooped earth¬ 
ward : the fairy has selected for me this prominent 
branch. It’s a curious spirit that has brought you 
together and perhaps debate will be good; but 
there is no doubt in my mind as to the issue, for I 
am a symbolic bird from earliest ages—my domain 
is the sky—my vision Olympian. 

“You all seem so eagerly waiting to take part 
that I will at once assume command. I shall 
allow you to warble first, then I will add the final 
note. Just see Aspiring Jenny Wren emerging 
from a cloud of green leaves, how she twitches her 
tail, just as if she could not wait. 

“Impulsive Jenny, you may twitter first. Tell 
of your fascinating deeds of prowess, and you 
may, if you will, describe our disputed Kingship. 
Funny little aristocrat, proud as Chanticleer, you 
are a good one to lead off.” 


ASPIRING JENNY WREN 


J ENNY WREN—the wee, brown, flirting 
songster—delighted at being first called, 
shook her stump of a tail in a haughty con¬ 
vulsive manner and began her gushing lyr¬ 
ics with legends of saintly deeds. 

“Breton peasants call me ‘Bird of God’ because 
I built my nest in the manger of the Christ Child 
and brought moss and feathers to cover the Holy 
Babe. I was pet of gentle Saint Francis and other 
Holy Fathers. Sometimes when they were hungry 
I deposited my eggs in their cloaks, and when they 
found them, such praises as they offered unto God. 
But, alas! I’m not always saintly—how could a 
bird be with a tail that sticks up like mine? I 
scold as well as sing. 

“It’s a comfort that my small size and plain coat 
make me inconspicuous, for dreadful things can 
happen to birds arrayed in gorgeous plumage. I 
can get out of sight in a hurry and while I’m not a 



ASPIRING JENNY WREN 





ASPIRING JENNY WREN 


7 


robber-bird, I have been able unnoticed to take 
part in thrilling adventures—I’ll tell you about 
some of them now. 

“For example, on the dreadful day on which 
Julius Caesar was assassinated, birds were excited 
by the tumult in Rome, for at such times we look 
down upon more agony than humans can know. 
On that occasion I was set upon by an army of 
fighting birds, and I made such valiant defense 
that ever since I have been called ‘As brave as 
Caesar.’ This makes me think of my Kingship to 
which the Eagle alluded when he introduced me. 
I wonder he dared refer to it, for he well knows 
that I am true Monarch of Birdland—that is really 
why he presented me first. 

“And this is how it all happened. It was in a 
magical age when many matters were unsettled; 
among them styles of architecture, the best places 
to build, and most important of all how bold rob¬ 
ber-birds should be punished. Things grew seri¬ 
ous as they always grow under such circumstances, 
and it was felt that some one must be chosen to 
preside over our constant debates. We decided 


8 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


that the honor should be conferred upon the one 
that could fly highest. 

“The Eagle naturally made the first boast—he 
was sure he could win. If it had been a song 
contest, I might have stood a chance, but tiny me 
—could I ever distance a bird on the wing? Yet 
no songster could have greater aspirations. What 
fun it would be to rule over Birdland! Many wee 
people as well as wee birds have just such long¬ 
ings. Yes, the love of glory beats in my little 
breast as the love of the sun in that of boastful 
Chanticleer. Oh, if I could only bring down the 
Eagle’s pompous pride! I am clever as well as 
petite and cleverness does sometimes win over 
might, and as I thought suddenly a bright idea 
struck me. 

“Well, the time arrived for the trial. Woods 
and air were full of feathered folk, some coming 
to take part and others to witness the contest. 
Among them were Moping Owl, Soaring Skylark, 
ready to sing as it rose—and would you believe 
it, both Albatross and long-legged Stork deter¬ 
mined to try, and when the signal was given, you 


ASPIRING JENNY WREN 9 

should have watched them as they attempted to 
soar into the blue. 

“At last the Eagle proudly spread his mighty 
wings and soon was descried far above the others, 
coursing in great spirals towards the sun; but 
where was tiny Jenny*? In the excitement at the 
start I had, unnoticed, quietly hopped upon the 
Eagle’s head and perched there like a crest. Pres¬ 
ently, having vastly distanced his rivals, the Eagle 
with one powerful screech proclaimed his King- 
ship. At that instant, I soared above his head, 
and chirped as loudly as such a sprite can chirp, 
'Look up, and behold me victor/ 

“The jealous Eagle cast upon me a sentinel 
glance, swooped upward, grasped me in one 
staunch talon and dropped me to the earth. Oh, 
such a fall! Do you wonder that in it I lost part 
of my tail, and I have never recovered it. I was 
crestfallen, too, but I was proud, no bird should 
know it. So, battered as I was, I flew into a tree 
and poured out an exultant strain. But, alas! 
very soon I discovered that my honor as well as 
my tail was gone. The birds called me a trickster 


10 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


because I had mounted on the Eagle’s wings. 
They were seeking a knightly leader. I have, 
however, ever been grateful to one of my laure¬ 
ates who has said that 

“ ‘Wrens make prey 

Where eagles dare not perch/ 

“Birdland was merciless. A Convention was 
called, at which the Eagle was crowned with great 
pomp, and it was voted that I should be confined 
in a mouse-hole with Mister Owl to guard the 
door. The stupid creature fell asleep and with my 
wonted cunning I escaped. Mister Owl was twit¬ 
ted with carelessness, and threatened with so many 
things that it never dares show its face abroad in 
the daylight. I was very lonesome for, excepting 
faithful Robin, all the birds avoided me. Oh, that 
in some way I might redeem my character, and 
luckily an opportunity offered. 

“There was no fire upon the earth, and birds 
hovering near the sun brought stories of mighty 
conflagrations there. So it was resolved that one 


ASPIRING JENNY WREN 


11 


of our number should fly to the sun and seize from 
it a burning brand with which to light the earth. 
It was a dangerous mission—indeed, nothing so 
terrible had ever been proposed. We glanced at 
one another wondering who would attempt it. 
‘I have already had scorching experiences and 
I dare not go,’ exclaimed the Kingfisher. The 
Peacock announced that its plumage was too 
precious to be injured; Soaring Skylark must not 
hurt its sweet voice; Kingly Eagle declared that a 
Monarch should never risk his life—while Intel¬ 
lectual Crow just ‘cawed’ at the very idea. In¬ 
deed, there were about as many objections as mem¬ 
bers of the Convention. 

“I meditated, for my ambition to be a hero was 
once more aroused. It is true that I might die in 
the venture—who would care? I would do any¬ 
thing to restore my good name. Finally I decided 
to try to bring the fire, and when it was announced, 
I was thrilled with joy to see the new interest I in¬ 
spired. Why, even Kingly Eagle cast upon me a 
glance of pleased surprise! 

“As I started, unusual strength seemed to be 


12 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


given. I soared upward toward the great yellow 
orb, I reached it, plucked the brand, and dashed 
down with it through the air. Hotter and hotter 
I grew until my wings caught fire. Friendly 
Robin, ever true, seeing me flutter in despair, hur¬ 
ried to my assistance and seized the brand. In¬ 
stantly his breast was scorched, and so badly that 
it has ever since been red. Then Soaring Skylark, 
snatching the fiery treasure from Friendly Robin, 
landed it safely on the earth and the mission was 
fulfilled. 

“I was nearly bare of plumage when I alighted 
but the applause was deafening. Kingly Eagle 
actually begged the other birds to present me with 
a feather, and all except Moping Owl brought me 
one—but Moping Owl screeched: 

“ 'Hoot, Hoot, go bare for all I care!’ 

"The birds were so disgusted that they voted 
that the culprit should be banished to a hollow 
tree, where ever since it has been freezing. As for 
me”—and Jenny bobbed her little brown head— 


ASPIRING JENNY WREN 13 

“by obtaining the fire-gift I was restored to the 
affection of Birdland, and while I do not twitter 
about it I am sure that the honor of flying highest 
does belong to me. 

“I have enjoyed many love episodes, and so I 
am known as a perfect coquette. Legend insists 
that sometimes Robin and I would make a match; 
my winning notes always charm him, it is true, 
but when we begin to get intimate, my scolding 
ones repel him. Perhaps I’m too perky to suit his 
gentle, affectionate nature. There is a rime that 
exactly describes his feelings. It runs as fol¬ 
lows: 

“ ‘Jenny Wren fell sick 
Upon a merry time, 

In came Robin Redbreast, 

And brought her sops of wine. 

“ ‘Eat well of the sop, Jenny, 

Drink well of the wine. 

Thank you, Robin, kindly; 

You shall be mine.’ 


14 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


“ ‘Jenny she got well 
And stood upon her feet, 

And told Robin plainly 
She loved him not a bit/ 

“I’ve not much time, however, to devote to my 
ideals, for from early dawn to close of day life is 
busy and practical. Every year are mating and 
nest-building and rearing of birdlings, and with 
cold weather comes the sudden call for migration 
—rushing away to the sunny South—and when 
spring comes, flying back perhaps even to the same 
nest, unless it has been stolen by some robber-bird 
in which to lay its eggs. 

“I am such a skillful builder, I do not wonder 
that humans admire my neat, cozy cradle for my 
nestlings. ‘A lichened manse/ one calls it; an¬ 
other, ‘The wondrous house of the viewless Wren/ 
and he adds: 

“ ‘Go compass sea and land in search of bliss, 
Find, if you can, a happier home than this/ 


ASPIRING JENNY WREN 


15 


“And now,” added Aspiring Jenny, “I’ve piped 
long enough. I know that I am not big and gor¬ 
geous, but I am bravest of the brave. What more 
could one ask of a wee bird?” And Jenny as she 
paused gave another twitch to her stump of a tail. 


FRIENDLY ROBIN 


R OBIN had grown impatient, for it had al¬ 
ways been his privilege to open morning 
concerts. Besides, when Jenny referred 
to their love-making he grew very restless, 
and when she alluded to the origin of his ruddy 
breast, he flew to a prominent twig, cocked his 
head on one side, and with his soft, bright eyes 
glanced appealingly at the Eagle. The Monarch 
understood the look as a Monarch should, and the 
instant Jenny paused, beckoned him to begin. 
His first notes were tremulous but they were fol¬ 
lowed by a jubilant burst of song: 

“Jenny has told you that I scorched my feath¬ 
ers helping her bring a firebrand from the sun, but 
my scarlet waistcoat is accounted for in other ways. 
I was one of Donar’s lightning messengers, and he 
insists that it was when I carried his sacred fire 
that my plumage burst into sudden flame. But I 
love better to recall my part in saintly legend— 
how the Christ Child fed me as I hopped about 
16 



FRIENDLY ROBIN 


mp 











FRIENDLY ROBIN 


17 


His Mother’s door and how later as I fluttered 
near the Cross, trying to pluck a nail therefrom, a 
drop of blood touching my breast transformed its 
dull brown into scarlet. I was but a Robin, yet 
I had done what I could, and the Saviour blessed 
me and called me ‘Bird of God,’ ‘Bearer of Good 
Tidings’—blue as the heavens should be my eggs, 
and happiness should follow my flight. Then at 
the wondrous Ascension I joined in glad Hosan¬ 
nas. Far and wide have I proclaimed the ‘Good 
Tidings’ which my gracious lover, John Burroughs, 
interprets as ‘Cheerily, cheerily, cheer up, cheer 
up.’ 

“One legend tells how I helped the hungry 
monks of Brittany. Their crops had failed and 
with eyes cast upon the ground they walked in 
the fields. Perched in a tree, I watched them while 
pouring out my gushing strains. I waited until I 
saw them prayerfully raise their eyes heavenward, 
and then came my chance. I flew over them, dan¬ 
gling in my beak a great full ear of corn. They 
discovered it, beckoned me, seized the ear joyfully, 
and from it there sprang such a rich harvest as they 


18 


CAROL IN RIRDLAND 


had not before reaped. And ever since Breton 
monks have been grateful to the little bird that not 
only taught them a lesson of faith, but also kept 
them from starving. 

“Another title which I greatly value was given 
me by the O jib way Indians. It is Triend of Man.’ 
Among this tribe boys were obliged to undergo a 
long fast in order to gain the love of the Great 
Spirit, and if they bravely endured it, he would 
always protect them. One of the chiefs had a gen¬ 
tle, handsome son, and his father determined that 
to win the favor of God he should undergo such a 
fast as had never before been accomplished. 

“He made the boy a tent of skins within which 
he placed a mat of rushes, and upon this the boy 
was to lie and meditate for twelve days and nights, 
without food or drink. On the twelfth morning his 
father appeared, saying cheerfully as he entered 
the tent: c Now, my son, you may rise and eat.’ 
There was no response, he glanced about him, the 
tent seemed empty; hearing a slight flutter, he 
looked up and there perched upon the ridge-pole 
was I, a beautiful Robin—his transformed boy— 


FRIENDLY ROBIN 


19 


and as he saw me I piped exultingly that as a bird 
I would ever be his friend and cheer him with my 
lays. 

“I am also the very joy of children, and in sum¬ 
mer-time we sing and play together. They first 
loved me because I covered with leaves the poor 
‘Babes in the Wood’ whose tragedy has always 
touched them. So both old and young delight to 
listen to my morning song, for it helps them to 
begin the day ‘cheerily.’ 

“It’s natural for me to be up in music, for I give 
concerts nearly all the year round, in the North 
in summer, in the South in winter. The North¬ 
ern poet hails in spring: 

“ ‘Robins in the tree-tops, 

Blossoms in the grass, 

Green things a-growing 
Everywhere you pass.’ 

“The Southern poet in winter describes how 

“ ‘The Robin laughed in the orange tree; 

Ho, windy North, a fig for thee; 


20 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 

While hearts are red and wings are bold, 

And green trees wave us globes of gold, 
Time’s scythe shall reap but bliss for me; 
Sunlight, song, and the orange tree.’ 

"My true home, however, is in ‘Cherry-tree-land’ 
even if winds are cold and branches bare. 

"So in early spring I love the home-coming, and 
when happy Bluebird announces, ‘Trually, trually, 
Spring is here,’ I am ready to respond with a 
‘Cheerily, cheerily, cheer up, cheer up,’ and again 
the poet listens to my glad note amid ‘The whistle 
of returning birds’; then life gets busy with piping, 
mating and nest-building. Jenny may boast of her 
dainty home—she is indeed a rare architect and 
wrens are noted for their devotion to domestic 
matters. 

"But no two families are ever alike. Robins are 
social in their instincts and curiously alive to the 
doings in both Birdland and Folkland, and too 
much interest in public affairs does not always 
make good home-keepers. Besides, my family have 
only time to build rude adobe, ramshackle nests 


FRIENDLY ROBIN 21 

and stick them onto a low branch in the crotch of 
a tree, but none can outdo us in devotion to nest¬ 
lings. We build near gardens or orchards where 
there are plenty of small fruits—it’s hard work 
flying from tree to tree to gather these, or again 
hopping lightly over the lawn to peck for the early 
worm on which nestlings dote—but I forget, my 
address was to be a simple challenge for Kingship. 
I was just to assert my claims and I have rambled 
on, prating of family affairs; well, it’s like me and 
like many another—we never know when to stop.” 

And then Robin, puffing out his tiny breast, 
thus concluded: “I am not big, I do not fly sky¬ 
ward, but instead I linger near man. Besides I 
play a most prominent part in the ‘Bird Orchestra.’ 
I am also a true aristocrat. You surely must note 
my marks of distinction in the Convention. Can 
any one outdo me in the sweetness of saintly leg¬ 
end'? in works of cheer and faith and love? My 
song is but a burst of optimism. Are not such 
traits more appealing than size and strength and 
soaring power? As Friendly Robin paused inquir¬ 
ingly, Kingly Eagle winced. 


MOPING OWL 


A MOMENT’S pause and silence was 
broken by a portentous sound: 
‘Whoo-whoo-too-whoo-too-o-o-’’ 

The birds shuddered as Moping Owl 
emerged from a hollow tree. It was strange to see 
the nocturnal bird appear in broad daylight, but 
Kingly Eagle must have invited it to take part, 
for it rose with solemn dignity and with noiseless 
flight alighted on an evergreen tree. It seemed a 
perfect gloom-bird in contrast to Cheery Robin, 
but in every Convention one finds a variety of dis¬ 
positions. 

And Moping Owl thus droned its tale : 

“I cannot, like Friendly Robin and Aspiring 
Jenny, recall my part in saintly legend. In Holy 
Writ I am doleful and mourning and with Raven, 
Bittern and Cormorant, I am counted prophet of 
ruin and desolation. Mythological characters for 
diverse sins have been changed into owls. My his- 



MOPING OWL 




















MOPING OWL 


23 


tory is so ancient that I do not remember whether I 
was a Monarch’s or a baker’s child; but I do know 
that I grew into such a lovely being that a jealous 
fairy determined to transform me. Touching me 
with her wand my eyes grew big and round through 
fright, my nose became a beak, my feet long and 
hooked. Soft feathers covered my body and wings 
were given me for flight. Blind with anger and 
terror, I kept striking my head against hard sub¬ 
stances until I flattened my face and beak, and I 
have ever since borne marks of what happened. 
But there are always compensations—for in spite 
of my homely face, few birds possess such lovely 
plumage as mine. 

“Jenny complains that when she was scorched 
I would not give her a feather, but my coat is too 
rare to be shared by such a plain little songster. 
Besides, winter was coming and, oh, how I dread 
the cold, and one must be practical. But, alas! 
My apparent selfishness was punished and it’s a 
tragedy. I can, even now, recall the terrible words 
of the King as he pronounced my doom: ‘Solitary 
Bird of Night, thou shalt never cease thy shivering, 


24 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


and if thou ever darest venture forth in the sun¬ 
light, evil shall surely befall thee/ 

“My love-story is another tragedy and now I 
will tell it: One night in glancing up at the golden 
disk of the moon I descried the shadowy outline of 
a charming lady. I felt sure that she was smiling 
down upon me. Sleepy birds were at roost—I 
could have her all to myself—I would woo her. 
Ruffling my feathers about my neck in order to 
present a stylish appearance, I flew noiselessly up 
a long, tired way and as I approached her, I ad¬ 
dressed her in dulcet tones as follows: 

“ ‘Beautiful Moon-Princess, I love you, will you 
marry me?’ She gazed upon my goggle-eyes and 
only laughed, and that fired me to still greater 
earnestness, so I repeated : 

“ ‘Oh, Princess of the Moon, please, please 
marry me, for I love you very dearly/ The more 
fervent I grew the more she laughed, and as she 
was chewing a betel-nut she nearly choked, but at 
last replied: ‘Give me time to finish my betel-nut, 
Mr. Goggles, and then I will say yes/ 

“I promised and delightedly flew back to my 


MOPING OWL 25 

hollow in the tree, but growing impatient night 
after night I flew up to the Moon-lady with the 
same plea. Finally she became perfectly discour¬ 
aged about how to free herself from Mr. Goggle- 
Eyes as she wickedly called poor me, and then she 
hit upon the following ruse: 

“Saying over her nut a moon-charm, she tossed 
it to the earth. There was a brilliant streak 
through the air, and what should alight but a 
dainty honey-bird decked out in gorgeous plumage. 
It had promised the Moon-Lady to keep out 
of my sight and thus save her from becoming 
my wife. And it was very long before I knew 
that the honey-bird was her transformed betel-nut. 
So naturally I appeared again and again before the 
fair lady and she always met my query in the same 
way. But now the secret is revealed, and my heart 
is saddened by treachery and despair. Even yet 
I sometimes gaze up towards my fair Princess, sob¬ 
bing: ‘Hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-oh.’ Yes, I long for 

“ ‘A bride who is fair and bold, 

And who loveth the wood’s dark gloom.’ 


26 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


“Failing in love, I became an even more gro¬ 
tesque personality. I formed the habit of keeping 
my eyes firmly fixed in their sockets, and I had 
been so imposed upon that I learned to turn my 
head squarely around in order to avoid danger. 
In so doing I can always know what is behind as 
well as before me. With mocking laugh and rasp¬ 
ing note I haunt the dim forest. I can change 
witches into screech-owls, and no charm is effective 
unless an owlet’s wing is cast into the bubbling 
cauldron. One heroic deed I can recall. It was 
when Genghis Khan, the world conqueror, fleeing 
from his enemies, was hiding in a cave. It was I 
that bravely guarded the entrance until his pur¬ 
suers had passed by, so to the Tartars I am a lucky 
emblem. 

“Jenny and Robin speak proudly of their poet- 
lore. I can say little on that subject, for with few 
exceptions poets call me only a doleful emblem; 
I am grateful to the dramatist, Shakespeare, for in 
his gayer mood he makes me a bit funny and popu¬ 
lar. 

“I have narrated the story of my tragic life, 


MOPING OWL 


27. 


feeling sure that knowing it you will reward me by 
voting me King of Birdland. And now I will 
offer yet better proof of my real fitness for office. 

“While I know I am grotesque in appearance 
and cold and shrinking in character, the pictur¬ 
esque Greeks discovered in me, ‘Twilight-loving 
solitary Owl,’ true wit and beauty. The wise God¬ 
dess Minerva was greatly attracted by my shy 
blinking expression and noiseless flight in the 
moonlight, and when she discovered my ‘Five 
Wits’ she called me to come and sit at her side as 
counselor, and in both Art and Literature I have 
ever been her ‘Lightning Bird,’ her benign ‘Em¬ 
blem of Wisdom.’ Advised by me how wondrous 
became her influence over Greece. Surely politi¬ 
cal wisdom is counted great among kingly attri¬ 
butes. 

“Besides, as mysterious ruler of darkness may I 
not with my noiseless flight and observations taken 
from my solitary point of vantage uncover plots 
with which Birdland is full? while my startling 
‘hoot’ or ‘screech’ would down any uprising. Such 
gifts are of untold value in a leader. 


28 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


“One plea more and I retire to await the vote 
of the Convention. I refer to my religious bearing 
so necessary in royalty. The poet Longfellow in 
his ‘Grave Bird of Hyperion’ compares me to a 
monk who chants a midnight mass in the vast tem¬ 
ple of Nature, ‘A Pillar Saint, a very Simeon 
Stylites’ of Birdland.” 

And with this sage suggestion the “Simeon 
Stylites of Birdland” turned upon his aerial perch 
and vanished into the darkness of the hollow tree, 
and from out the stillness there echoed back a 
dolorous “Whoo-whoo-whoo-whoo-to-whoo.” And 
the birds, seeing Moping Owl disappear, hummed 
a little song of pleasure. 


TWITTERING SWALLOW 


T HE Chairman with Eagle eye glanced among 
the songsters and beckoned to Twittering 
Swallow. At once it hopped upon a slen¬ 
der, conspicuous perch and thus began its 
sportive lay: 

“Don’t expect such a tiny prattler as I to rival 
in dignity ‘Moping, ancient, solitary Owl.’ I 
hardly recognized his Majesty until he doled out 
his tragic tale. How could I, for his noiseless 
flight is in darkness while I in brightest sunshine 
go skimming over the sky? 

“I am not intimate either with home-loving 
Jenny or friendly Robin that both linger near the 
dwelling of man. It is true, however, that happi¬ 
ness always abides in a home where I make my 
nest of clay under the eaves, and that I dart about 
the fields spearing flies for my noisy brood. With 
‘No feet, all wings’ I’m only a part of the merri¬ 
ment of Nature, a symbol of happy summer days. 

29 


30 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


“My family was founded in a fabulous age. 
Then it was that some children, building mud- 
houses upon the edge of a cliff, had a magic charm 
cast over them and were transformed into swal¬ 
lows, and ever since swallows have built houses of 
clay and played in the upper air. ‘Clime-changing 
swallows’ we are, for we best love the time when 
the migratory spirit is upon us and in great col¬ 
umns we go circling over the sky. Humans watch 
us, for high flight presages warm weather, while if 
we fly low, a storm is sure to follow. 

“I am wee, I know, to aspire to a Kingship, but 
I may claim a share in Holy Story for as the ‘Bird 
of gentle beak’ I assisted in building the sky, and 
it is told that once when the gates of Eden were 
open I darted in and prated with Adam and Eve. 
And there is another deed that I have done with 
truly saintly results. I hesitate to twitter about 
it, for it’s the story of a text and a sermon, and 
these do not usually form part of a political Con¬ 
vention but as I love unique things here goes my 
tale : 

“Once in a famous land a King and his Court 



TWITTERING SWALLOW 













TWITTERING SWALLOW 


31 


were gathered in an old Saxon hall to decide what 
action to take about some missionaries that had 
come from a distant land and with chant and cruci¬ 
fix were begging the King to accept Christianity. 
Just as the arguments were becoming serious I, as 
a plump little prelate, flew swiftly through the 
hall, and a priest who watched me arose and 
said: 

“ ‘You remember, O King, that which some¬ 
times happens in winter when you are seated with 
your earls and thanes; your fire is lighted, your 
hall warmed, while without are rain and snow. 
Then comes a swallow flying across the hall; it en¬ 
ters by one door and leaves by another. The brief 
moment while it is within is pleasant to it, for it 
feels not rain nor cheerless winter weather, but the 
moment is brief—the bird vanishes in the twinkling 
of an eye. Where does the little bird come from, 
where does the little bird go, as he passes from 
winter to winter? Such, methinks, is the life of 
man on earth compared with the uncertain time 
beyond; we know not what is before or after. If, 
then, this new doctrine may teach us somewhat of 


32 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


greater certainty, let us regard it/ So it was that 
my unconscious text given on the wing helped 
more than all the chants and processions, for by it 
Christianity was accepted. 

“Among monkish legends associated with birds 
is one about my family that I love. It was once 
when the swallows insisted in building their nests 
around a chapter-house, and they worked very 
noisily even while the Holy Fathers were at silent 
prayer. The Fathers were naturally indignant, 
for they seemed unable to frighten the little build¬ 
ers away. They appealed to the pious old Abbot, 
who took it very calmly and silenced the monks 
by saying: 

“ ‘Have we not houses of clay, 

Quite as fragile, not more fair. 

And shall we resolve 
Their tabernacles to dissolve, 

Asking God our own to spare?’ 

“The monks were so mortified that the tiny 
architects were allowed to remain even until the 


TWITTERING SWALLOW 33 

autumn. Then when they gathered in columns 
preparing to migrate, the Abbot, raising his hand 
in blessing, said, ‘Christian birds, depart in peace.’ 
Can you wonder I love the story? 

“I find it to be the fashion of this Convention 
for the ‘Birds of the Ages’ to quote from their poet- 
lore, and I follow their beautiful example. It’s 
funny that a bird like me that can only twitter 
may claim so many ‘Swallow Flights of Song.’ 
One poet watching me spearing flies called me 
‘Butcher-Bird.’ I’ll forgive him, for if he could 
have seen the gaping beaks of my nestlings he 
would have understood. Besides, in sentimental 
mood he allows me to carry a fascinating love- 
message to his Princess: 

“ ‘O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South, 

Fly'to her and fall upon her gilded eaves, 

And tell her, tell her, what I tell to thee. 

“ ‘O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow and light 
Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill 
And cheep and twitter twenty million loves. 


34 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


“ 'O Swallow, flying from the golden woods, 

Fly to her and pipe and woo her and make her 
mine, 

And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee/ 

“My daintiest picture is drawn by one that even 
converts my twitter into a real song: 

“ 'Like a living jewel she sits and sings; 

Fain would I read her riddle aright, 

So strong in a thing so slight/ 

“I may not make a striking appeal for Kingship 
I’m so tiny and chittering; besides, as I delight in 
skimming over the sky I would never keep quiet 
long enough to sit upon a throne. Let Moping 
Owl enjoy that privilege. I might, however, assist 
a King as Prime Minister, for in my soarings how 
easy to glance about Birdland, watch its gossip 
and politics, bring his Majesty the news and offer 
him good advice. While I can never rouse Bird- 
land with a 'Cock-a-doodle-doo!’, other birds al¬ 
ways respond to my merry note.” Twittering 
Swallow bowed and hopped away. 


GABBLING GOOSE 


A S Twittering Swallow paused a loud 
cackle was heard, and what should alight 
on a low branch but a goose. It perched 
awkwardly while it gabbled very fast: 

“I was just on the way from the water to my 
feeding ground, for I am most punctual in regard 
to dinner hour. Hearing as I passed a little rus¬ 
tle and chirp, I looked up and spied Twittering 
Swallow and the curious gathering in the grove.” 
Then, glancing at Kingly Eagle, Gabbling Goose 
exclaimed: “How dare you call any kind of a 
Convention without summoning me, for I know 
more on any subject you may discuss than you 
all put together.” A low amusing response was 
heard as the birds gazed upon the foolish fowl. 

Naturally Kingly Eagle seemed a bit interested 
—anything loud inspired his Majesty. So Gab¬ 
bling Goose was allowed to proceed and this is 

35 


36 CAROL IN BIRDLAND 

how it gabbled: “Things saintly and fabulous, 
historic and artistic, proverbial and literary, be¬ 
long to my family, but not poetic ones—I am too 
practical for silly rimes. Now let me prove my 
statement. I gained my place in saintly lore on 
account of cunning and cleverness. Sometimes I 
have been worshiped as a god while charitable 
St. Martin and knightly St. Michael were both 
devoted to me. 

“It would take a ‘wild-goose-chase’ to hunt up 
my fables, but I ask, ‘Have any of you typical 
“Birds of the Ages”—as you call yourselves—a pic¬ 
ture of your forebears taken over three thousand 
years ago 1 ? I have—it’s a fresco in the Boolak 
Museum and upon it are represented six geese. 
That’s something to form the beginning of one’s 
story. Besides, as a kind of pot-hook decoration 
on Cypriote vases or in squatty statuettes, I have 
been known since ancient days. I am proud of the 
‘Boy with the Goose,’ for it so plainly reveals the 
fact that little Hercules found me a hard bird 
to strangle. 

“Robin may prate of his friendly deeds to 



GABBLING GOOSE 
















GABBLING GOOSE 


37 


humans, but I have done more for them than he. 
What might have happened to Rome had not sa¬ 
cred members of my family given the historic 
‘Cackle’ on a memorable night in ‘The brave days 
of old.’ The geese saved the Eternal City. 

“I’m not, however, always proud of our ac¬ 
tions, specially of the time when with a goat I led 
a wild crusading rabble over Germany and Hun¬ 
gary; and also when flocks of geese peopling fens 
and marshes of the British Isles robbed so many 
corn-fields that a fine was enacted just as from 
human thieves. 

“Proverbially I take high rank. ‘By the goose’ 
was the oath of wise Socrates; ‘The older the goose 
the harder to pluck’ refers to a miser and his 
money—and as for ‘wild-goose-chase,’ you will 
understand it only when you try to catch wary 
me. 

“ ‘To cook one’s goose’ recalls a story about a 
King of Sweden. Once with a very small force 
he attacked a well-garrisoned town. The inhabi¬ 
tants were amused that he should appear with so 
few soldiers, and in derision they hung out a goose 


38 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


for him to shoot. But the King knew what he 
was about and instead set fire to the town. The 
terrified inhabitants too late called upon him in 
despair; whereupon he promptly replied, T came 
to cook your goose/ 

“You birds have probably been chattering of 
domestic affairs. You are always so excited about 
the rearing of your nestlings, but I consider this 
too personal a topic for such a public gathering. 
My judgment is good on many subjects, and if 
humans only better understood my characteristics 
they would know that when they call one ‘a goose’ 
they really show him honor, proving him witty 
and alert. 

“I must gabble to you of our wondrous migra¬ 
tions—how, obeying an ancient law and led by a 
captain, we follow in a great wedge-shaped mass, 
streaming over the sky, bound on a pilgrimage of 
perhaps thousands of miles. Do you birds watch 
us as we go and listen to our piercing 'Honk, honk,’ 
as we cleave the air? The sight must be magnifi¬ 
cent. Farmers who study the weather as they see 
us say over the old prophecy: 


GABBLING GOOSE 


39 


“ ‘Wild geese, wild geese ganging to the sea, 
Good weather it will be; 

Wild geese, wild geese ganging to the hill, 
The weather it will spill.’ 

“Throughout our history we have done very 
much for humans. Such a debt of gratitude as 
they owe us! Think of the manuscripts made by 
our tiny quills before steel pens were invented. 
Economical old days they were when one writer 
after finishing his book declared: 

“ ‘With one sole pen I wrote this book, 
Made of a gray goose quill; 

A pen it was when I it took, 

A pen I leave it still.’ 

“But, alas! after all that our quills have accom¬ 
plished how little has been the appreciation, for 
we are usually portrayed as stuffed or garrulous 
or cackling or waddling or greedy or foolish. 
There is, however, one literary goose that humans 
love—that ‘rarest of birds’ served at Bob Cratchit’s 
Christmas dinner. 


40 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


“I am always ready to cackle, but not being in¬ 
vited to make an address, courtesy tells me I 
should stop. I am a curious fowl and wish I might 
know why you are all gathered in Convention. 
I’m too polite to ask—but if it’s a political issue 
just call upon me to decide. If you need a Presi¬ 
dent, elect me; if you desire a King well up on 
all subjects, here I am, crown me. Now I’ll pro¬ 
ceed to my dinner, but please remember that I am 
fit and ready for any honor; give me a Kingship 
and I will gabble majestically.” 


SOARING SKYLARK 


F OR a moment all was still, and then the 
sweetest little chorus of welcome resounded 
through Birdland: 

“All hail, the Sire of Song appears, 

The Muse’s eldest born; 

The Skylark in the dawn of years, 

The poet of the morn.” 

Thus was Soaring Skylark greeted by the tune¬ 
ful choir as, springing from its lowly nest, it 
paused upon a twig and gayly warbled forth: 

“Larikie, larikee lee. 

Wha’ll gang up to Heaven with me? 

No’ the lout that lies in his bed. 

Up in the lift go we, 

Tee-hee, tee-hee, tee-hee, tee-hee.” 

41 


42 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


It was a relief from Gabbling Goose to listen 
to the blithe strains of Soaring Skylark: “You 
rightly hail me ‘Sire of Song,’ for even before cre¬ 
ation’s dawn, seven times daily I soared singing 
to Heaven, but though my tryst is far away in 
the clouds, I am but a tiny earthly minstrel with 
my nest in the stubble, for while 

“ ‘I soar highest from the earth, 

I ever leave the lowest nest.’ 

“Merry morn belongs to me and some one has 
said: 

“ ‘He who is up with the Skylark sings like one.’ 

“Chanticleer may dispute my title of ‘Matin 
Bird,’ for he calls himself ‘Bird of Dawn,’ but as 
he is trumpeter and I am singer, our missions do 
not clash. Let him strut about his barnyard pro¬ 
claiming a new day, while I soar into rosy skies 
and trill my anthem of praise for sunrise glow. 

“Romans honored me by naming a legion 



SOARING SKYLARK 










SOARING SKYLARK 


43 


‘Alauda,’ and I was national bird of early Gaul, 
for the savages believed that a humble musician 
so rich in melody would make the best emblem of 
courage. Yet I will not flute of military or na¬ 
tional honors, but of my ‘sprinklings from the sky’ 
and of how charmingly they have been caught up 
by poetic, listening humans. This is my greatest 
glory, and of this I must twitter if I would claim 
title to Kingship, for never bird had so many lau¬ 
reates as I. 

“Blithe Dan Chaucer, himself ‘Poet of the 
Dawn,’ always honored ‘the merry lark,’ as ‘Mes¬ 
senger of Day’; and Lyly asks: 

“ ‘Who is’t now we hear? 

None but the lark so shrill and clear; 

Now at Heaven’s gate she claps her wings, 

The morn not waking till she sings.’ 

“Shakespeare calls me a ‘Blythesome Bird,’ and 
he lets me prate of the time 

“ ‘When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, 

And merry larks are ploughmen’s clocks.’ 


44 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


“And how delightfully he describes my rousing 
Phoebus Apollo: 

“ ‘Hark, hark, the lark at Heaven’s gate sings, 
And Phoebus ’gins arise, 

His steeds to water at those springs 
On chaliced flowers that lies; 

And winking Mary-buds begin 
To ope their golden eyes; 

With everything that pretty bin 
My lady sweet, arise, 

Arise, arise.’ 

“Even stately Milton turns from sublime strains 
to listen to my bubbling song: 

“ ‘To hear the lark begin his flight, 

And, singing, startle the dull night, 

From her watch-tower in the skies, 

Till the dappled morn doth rise.’ 

“Coquettish Herrick invokes my aid in one of 
his romances: 


SOARING SKYLARK 


45 


“ ‘God speed, for I this day, 

Betimes my mattens say; 

Because I doo 
Beginn to woo, 

Sweet singing lark, 

Be thou my dark, 

And know thy when 
To say amen.’ 

“I am to Shelley ‘A blythe Spirit’ and to Hogg a 
‘Musical Cherub’ that ‘soars singing away’; Cole¬ 
ridge, in reply to a child’s question, says: 

“ ‘The lark is so full of gladness and love, 

The green fields below him, the blue sky 
above. 

That he sings, and he sings, and forever sings he, 
“I love my love, and my love loves me.” ’ 

“Little Pippa, too, lets me strike an exquisite 
note in her message of cheer: 

“ ‘The lark’s on the wing; 

The snail’s on the thorn; 


46 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


God’s in His Heaven— 

All’s right with the world.’ 

“Tennyson listens and loves my raptures as he 
exclaims: 

“ ‘The lark could scarce get out his notes for joy, 
But shook his song together as he neared 
His happy home, the ground.’ 

“And yet again he voices my note: 

“ ‘Now sings the woodland loud and long, 

And distance takes a lovelier hue, 

And drowned in yonder living blue 
The lark becomes a sightless song.’ 

“I add a picture of my simple earthly mission; 
it is from one of quaint Eliza Cook’s vignettes: 

“ ‘Up in the morning while the dew 
Is splashing in crystals o’er him; 

The ploughman hies to the upland rise, 


SOARING SKYLARK 


47 


But the lark is there before him; 

He sings while the team is linked to the share, 
He sings when the mist is going.’ 


Now his pinions are spread o’er the ploughman’s 
head, 

Now he drops in the furrow behind him; 

Oh, the lark is a merry and constant mate, 
Without favor or fear to bind him.’ 

“These are but snatches from my delightful 
human impressionists to whom I have fluted and 
who love my gushing lyrics, ‘Sire of Song’—em¬ 
blem of early rising, praise and hope—these make 
my poetic plea for Kingship.” 


STURDY WOODPECKER 

A S Soaring Skylark’s blithe carol ceased, a 
ringing cry was heard, and Sturdy Wood¬ 
pecker appeared; it had been invited to 
take part, and, though hard at work when 
the summons came, it accepted the invitation with 
pleasure. The brave little forester clung to the 
trunk of a tree and, using his bill for a gavel, 
drummed upon a branch thus calling the Conven¬ 
tion to order: “I am too busy to be like Soaring 
Skylark ever pouring out a gushing song—indeed, 
I’m neither musical nor poetic—but this is well— 
for in Birdland as in Folkland there must be prac¬ 
tical as well as sentimental members of society.” 

Sturdy Woodpecker need not have explained, 
for its rattling tattoo was in such striking contrast 
to Soaring Skylark’s clear note that one might 
know it could only drum. It seemed, however, 
very fond of dress, for it was arrayed in a red 
cap and bright gown, and it made such a big racket 

48 


r 



STURDY WOODPECKER 




























* 


















. 


















A 

















9 























































/ 








































9 








































» 








s 


» 
















































































































STURDY WOODPECKER 


49 


for a small bird as it continued: “I am almost as 
old as the ‘Sire of Song,’ for I was present even 
when the Great Spirit created the world. At first 
he made it just smooth and round, and, as the 
birds were fluttering and preening their wings, he 
called them together and said to them: ‘Come, my 
birds, I have formed you and given you for your 
home a beautiful blue sky, and now you must 
help with your claws and beaks to pile up moun¬ 
tains and hollow out places for lakes and rivers. 

“So the good birds at once commenced. They 
pecked with their beaks and scratched with their 
claws. Kingly Eagle with his huge talons had 
not the slightest difficulty in throwing up a mighty 
mountain, but in those merry old days I was proud 
and self-willed; I would not soil my bright coat 
even to obey the Great Spirit by pecking and 
scratching and very foolishly refused. 

“But the others worked bravely on and soon all 
was finished. Hollows were filled with broad 
lakes, sparkling rivers, rippling brooks, and sweet 
fountains, and the Great Spirit was pleased and 
thanked the birds and allowed them to drink in 


50 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


cool, refreshing streams. I hoped he had over¬ 
looked me, but, alas! it was in vain—very soon he 
called me to him and told me that he had found 
me lazy and ungrateful, and, worst of all, disobedi¬ 
ent. Such dreadful sins! 

“As punishment, nevermore would I be allowed 
to thrust my beak into lake, river, brook or foun¬ 
tain; but instead I must forever cling to a tree, 
either hacking at the dusty wood or gazing up 
into the sky, always plaintively piping a little 
‘plui, plui,’ for raindrops to fall and quench my 
thirst.” 

The long-rolling rat-a-tat became very emphatic 
as the Sturdy Woodpecker added: “I have been 
tapping ever since. Take warning from my sad 
fate, and whenever you hear my ‘tap, tap’ re¬ 
member to be obedient, for if you fail, something 
is sure to happen. You are just like humans— 
some love to obey and some do not—and it’s al¬ 
ways bad for those who do not. 

“I have yet another legend to relate. It is 
about a wicked miser. It seems that one day when 
the Lord and St. Peter were walking together, 


STURDY WOODPECKER 


51 

they were very hungry, and, looking through a win¬ 
dow, they saw an old woman with a mutch upon 
her head. They entered the house and asked her 
to give them a bannock, and she promised to make 
them one. They watched eagerly as she took a 
very small piece of dough and rolled it out; and 
as she rolled, it spread miraculously until it cov¬ 
ered the whole griddle. This was more than she 
would give, so she took a smaller lump, and to her 
surprise it spread in the same way. 

“The third time she took a bit so tiny that they 
could hardly see it, and, lo, it increased like the 
others. The selfish creature was discouraged. ‘It’s 
all too big,’ she cried. ‘I will give you nothing’— 
and the Lord was wroth and replied: ‘Since you 
love me so little as to grudge me even a morsel, 
you shall become a bird and ever seek your food 
between bark and bole and drink only when it 
rains.’ 

“So with the red mutch still upon her head, she 
began to shrink, and she shrank until she turned 
into a woodpecker and flew up the chimney, and 
ever since she has been hacking at the trees, call- 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


52 

ing for a drop to cool her tongue. So, birds, here’s 
another lesson—be generous as well as obedient. 

“While I have been selfish and unruly I have 
never been a wicked robber like Mr. Crow and 
Mr. Jay and others I might mention; there are 
really some good points in my character—for my 
industry the Greeks called me ‘Carpenter Bird’; 
they compared my forceful blows to hacking heard 
in the dockyard. 

“American Indians give me real honor—for if 
an Indian can get it he wears the head of one of 
my family as an emblem of good luck, believing 
that through such a talisman there may be im¬ 
parted to him a woodpecker’s ardor and industry; 
and as to courage, Robin Hood, hearing my ring¬ 
ing cry, was often inspired by it to do his merry 
pranks in the Greenwood. 

“I may not, like Soaring Skylark, boast of laure¬ 
ates. Indeed, poets find little in me to admire. 
One even calls me ‘A fool that laughs at noth¬ 
ing.’ But all feathered folk cannot make the same 
appeal. I hear the note of Musical Nightingale— 
yes—there she is flying onto a prominent branch. 


STURDY WOODPECKER 


53 

How plainly she is dressed compared to me—yet 
she is ‘Queen of Song’—while I, fantastic little 
dryad, can only tap and drum. But there are dif¬ 
ferent ways of breaking the solitude of the woods 
and I do my own part sturdily. 

“Of one thing I am certain. I should never 
have been asked to participate in your discussions 
between the raptures of Soaring Skylark and the 
melody of Musical Nightingale had not the Con¬ 
vention felt that my prosaic traits entitled me to 
a vote. Diligence, obedience, generosity—these 
are kingly—and best of all by my insistent drum¬ 
ming I could always keep Birdland in order.” 


MUSICAL NIGHTINGALE 


A ND now as musical warblings were heard 
there flew forward a small dusky bird—a 
contrast indeed to Sturdy Woodpecker. 
It was “Divine Philomela”—there was no 
mistake—the very first notes that streamed 
through the air proclaimed her title. Alighting on 
a low thorn-bush and without prelude, she thus 
began her winsome tale: 

“I ask no higher honor, but as Queen will al¬ 
ways preside, and with musical gushings, fearless 
and alert, will ever add melody to your discussions 
and thus work for the joy of life. And I have 
great influence, for other small birds sharing in the 
gossip of the trees stop to listen as I pour out the 
raptures of my heart, not a note of which is bor¬ 
rowed from any other songster. 

“It is as Queen that the King has invited me to 
take part and to be in the fashion I must recount 

54 



MUSICAL NIGHTINGALE 


























I 






























































































































































MUSICAL NIGHTINGALE 


55 


my legends. I hesitate a bit to do this as they un¬ 
fortunately are not in keeping with my queenly 
nature; but in Birdland one must follow the rules 
of a Birdland Convention. So here goes my story 
with all due apology for my wicked theft: 

“Soaring Swallow, whose original name was 
Procus, did not twitter that we were related, but 
we were both children of King Pandion, who, in a 
fabulous age, ruled over Athens. We had one 
lover between us who professed to be devoted to 
both—but he really persecuted us so terribly that 
we fled from him, calling upon the gods to deliver 
us. Our prayer was answered. Procus was trans¬ 
formed into Soaring Swallow, and I, Philomela, 
into Musical Nightingale. 

“Proving the sweetest singer in Birdland, I be¬ 
came such a favorite that I was often invited to 
perform in public ; but, alas! there’s always some¬ 
thing, and I had but one eye. I tried in every way 
to conceal my misfortune by cocking my bit of a 
head in all directions, but it was of no use, and in 
my despair an evil thought struck me, and I com¬ 
mitted such a wicked deed that afterward I was 


56 CAROL IN BIRDLAND 

condemned to sing the lullaby of the other birds. 
It was when I had been summoned to lead the 
bridal chorus at a fairy wedding that I committed 
the sin. 

“With only one eye I was too proud to accept 
the invitation, and while trying to devise some ex¬ 
cuse, I discovered a blindworm struggling among 
dead leaves. An idea struck me—I would steal its 
eye—it might be difficult—but I was so secluded 
in my leafy bower that no bird would ever know. 
So I watched for days and it really seemed as if 
the poor worm suspected me, for I never caught 
it napping until the very eve of the wedding. I 
flew down quickly, pecked out its eye, and popped 
it into my own empty socket—and then I sang out 
merrily: ‘Ho, Ho, now I have two bright eyes, now 
I’ll go to the wedding and sing as gayly as I please. 
I’ll see how every bird is dressed, every tiny 
feather preened’; I fully intended to return the eye 
later on, but it proved such a comfort that I could 
not spare it, yet it has been a great source of anx¬ 
iety, for I never dare fall asleep lest that blind- 
worm catch me napping and take back its lost 


MUSICAL NIGHTINGALE 57 

treasure, so I must be awake both day and night 
to keep up my courage. 

“There’s another legend of my wakefulness 
that does not involve me in such dreadful tragedy. 
This describes how one night as I was perching 
upon a vine-stock I did fall asleep, and when I 
awoke I found that its tendrils had twined them¬ 
selves all about me. I had such trouble in free¬ 
ing myself that since then I have never dared fall 
asleep, lest the virgin’s seal should pinion me so 
firmly that I could never get away. 

“I care not for gaudy dress. The Cardinal may 
wear a coat as beautiful as his note is rapturous. 
Can he realize what danger lurks in brilliant 
plumage? My coat renders me inconspicuous. 
Indeed, it would be hard to find me when I sit 
within a mass of greenery—and while I care not 
for my legends, my delight is in my song. I pour 
out my delicious love-notes either to the setting 
sun or the rising moon. I sing in the daytime, 
too, but amid the tangle of minstrelsy my low 
voice is not heard. The Vesper Sparrow and Her¬ 
mit Thrush with its bell-like note, and also other 


58 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


songsters, love to trill at nightfall when the noisy 
world is hushed. How funny that one of the 
wisest of poets that claimed to be an ornithologist 
insisted that I sing only in the night-time. He 
made the following observations about me: 

“ ‘I think the nightingale if she should sing by 
day, when every goose is cackling, would be 
thought no better a musician than the wren. 5 

“Like Soaring Skylark, I am a special melodist 
in Birdland, and through the ages poet after poet 
has been romancing about me. Unseen, I allow 
my worshipers to approach very near. 

“ ‘To sing like a nightingale 5 has been an in¬ 
spiration in many lands and perhaps nowhere so 
great as among the Zingari of Hungary. These 
peasants may not know a note of music, but like 
me simply interpret Nature’s harmonies, and they 
thus give utterance to such matchless melodies that 
noted musicians love to linger among them. 

“In Greece I was ‘Light-Winged Dryad of the 
Trees. 5 Sappho and I both sang of love—she 
as ‘Lesbian Nightingale, 5 I as ‘Sweet Plaintive 
Sappho of the Dell. 5 It is true that in England, 


MUSICAL NIGHTINGALE 59 

King Edward the Confessor tried to banish me 
from the country because I once interrupted his 
pious meditations by waking the woodland with 
my incessant music; he even prayed that my voice 
might never again be heard in the land. I left the 
forest, but returned after the death of the King, 
determined to just sing on, for I felt that my music 
could outwit even royalty; and I was right for ever 
since my English worshipers have drawn poetic in¬ 
spiration from my delicious love notes. 

“One associates me with my mate that 

“ ‘Wrapped and fond 

Listening sits on a bough beyond.’ 

One hears my 

“ ‘Murmurs musical and swift jug jug.’ 

Another calls me 

“ ‘The merry Nightingale 

That crowds and hurries and precipitates 
With fast thick warble his delicious notes.’ 


60 CAROL IN BIRDLAND 

Yet another 

“ ‘Chantress of the woods’ 

while ‘The Poet of the Night’ dedicated to me an 
ode that is 


“ ‘A joy forever.’ 

“Legend describes my fancy for the rose and 
‘The Sweet Lyrist’ would make me warble to it of 
love: 

“ ‘There’s a bower of roses by Bendemere’s stream 

And the nightingale sings round it all the day 
long; 

In the time of my childhood ’twas like a sweet 
dream, 

To sit in the roses and hear the birds sing. 

“ ‘That bower and its music I never forget, 

And yet when alone in the bloom of the year, 

I think—is the nightingale singing there yet? 

Are the roses still bright by the calm Bende- 
mereT 


MUSICAL NIGHTINGALE 61 

“I have a variety of notes and one poet hearing 
them dedicates to me the following graceful lines: 

“ ‘O nightingale, thou surely art 
A creature of a fiery heart. 

These notes of thine—they pierce and pierce, 
Tumultuous harmony and fierce. 

Thou sing’st as if the god of wine 
Had helped thee to a valentine; 

A song in mockery and despite 
Of shade and dews and silent night 
And steady bliss and all the loves 
Now sleeping in these peaceful groves.’ 

“One of my modern and most valued tributes, 
if you will believe it, I received from Crowing 
Chanticleer. Proud as he is of himself, he actually 
exclaims : 

“ ‘To sing, to sing, but how, after hearing the 
faultless crystal of your note, can I ever be satis¬ 
fied again with the crude blazen blare of mine ?’ 

“Well, Birds, I have led you through a perfect 
maze of song and as ‘Queen of Night’ I could war- 


62 CAROL IN BIRDLAND 

ble on forever, but the King is beckoning, so our 
poetic ramble must end.” And the flute-like notes 
of the tiny fairy charmer died away in a prolonged 
trill. 


KINGLY EAGLE 


A ND now the Chairman’s harsh screech re¬ 
sounded through the air: “You have lis¬ 
tened to Aspiring Jenny, Friendly Robin, 
Moping Owl, Twittering Swallow, Gab¬ 
bling Goose, Soaring Skylark, Sturdy Woodpecker, 
Musical Nightingale—each after its kind, present¬ 
ing claims to my Kingship. Queer natures you 
praters possess! What a variety of pleas you do 
offer! I must pause a moment to consider them, 
specially those of Jenny, for she has made such a 
tragic effort to get my crown. 

“Well, Jenny, you surely have made the most of 
your two exploits, how fired by ambition you stole 
a skyward ride upon my crest and, bobbing up your 
smart little head, proclaimed yourself victor, and 
then later how in expiation you did bring fire from 
heaven to light the earth. Small matters may 
annoy the greatest in Birdland, but as the trait of 
a true Monarch is magnanimity, I ignore your at- 

63 


64 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


tempt—you are a delightful little housekeeper— 
your highest aspiration should surely be ‘Queen of 
the Home.’ 

“Dear Friendly Robin, bloodthirsty ruffian as 
I am, I do love your saintly deeds. But what can 
I do? I am always hungry, and for what were my 
great claws given but to seize my prey from other 
birds and from the earth? My predatory habits 
and soaring powers would never appeal to you 
with your gentle ways. Always linger near man 
and peck away while I soar. 

“Moping Owl, your history is curious indeed. 
You would seem at first sight to be always hatch¬ 
ing a conspiracy, but perhaps you are not half so 
bad as you are painted. I did not realize you were 
such a coquette, but I enjoyed your love-story 
hugely. Doubtless if the fair Moon Lady had ac¬ 
cepted your Lordship, your whole life might have 
been changed—who can tell? Let us show sym¬ 
pathy for your sobbing note and instead of criti¬ 
cizing your winks and goggles, admire your beau¬ 
tiful plumage. Your aspirations, however, are 
absurd. You are too moody and sedentary to rule. 






KINGLY EAGLE 


































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I 










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4 





KINGLY EAGLE 65 

A King should be alert—and what a funny-look¬ 
ing one you would make! 

“Twittering Swallow, I know well your spor¬ 
tive ways. I see you up in the sky skimming and 
wheeling about, now high, now low, and your text 
on the wing was lovely and its influence wonder¬ 
ful. However, you are but a tiny sprite, you could 
not remain long enough in the air to be King. 

“Gabbling Goose, you are immensely clever and 
well you know it. It’s too bad you are not better 
appreciated, but gabble away and in time you may 
get due honor. Your genius should have revealed 
to you the simple fact that you are too awkward 
to ever preside. So try to be happy in just assist¬ 
ing me with counsel—I need it. 

“Soaring Skylark, happy little minstrel, I do 
adore you as ‘Sire of Song’ and I congratulate you 
on your many laureates. Rest happy in your beau¬ 
tiful mission—that of making music in Birdland. 

“You, Sturdy Woodpecker, are much too plebe¬ 
ian to rule over other birds, though it is true that 
you are a most picturesque winged forester—don’t 
be discouraged about laureates; while there are 


66 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


numerous families of birds, hardly a hundred have 
laureates. Stick to your practical service, that of 
‘Tap-tap-tapping,’ so giving to others daily les¬ 
sons in obedience, industry, and loyalty. What 
could be finer? 

“It is a joy to me that you, Musical Nightin¬ 
gale, do not aspire to my throne. Beautiful 
‘Queen of Night/ what a fascination is yours! It 
is strange that amid the multitude of nature’s 
sounds from insects’ orchestra to lion’s roar, you, 
gentle Philomela, never interrupt, and yet in your 
leafy bower you warble so charmingly both day 
and night that other birds pause to listen—and 
Folkland listens, too, and voices your praises. 

“I have interrupted the Convention with my re¬ 
sponse to various appeals. I could not quietly lis¬ 
ten to any more such claims for my disputed King- 
ship, as you call it—and yet Chattering Magpie, 
Tale-bearing Crow and others are begging to take 
part. Among them Condor, Vulture, and Alba¬ 
tross on account of their great size, but they all 
forget that they lose their grace when flying, while 
even on the wing I am always majestic. 


KINGLY EAGLE 


67 


“This Convention must not become wearisome 
as such gatherings often do, so no more pleas will 
be offered. How glad I would be if, following my 
advice, you would drop your claims, and with 
your varied talents form yourselves into a Cabinet 
to advise me as King. I trust you may decide to 
do this after listening to my convincing oration, 
which is to be the climax of the Convention; after 
it a vote will be taken. 

“Before beginning it, however, I will read you 
a wireless which has just been received from Chan¬ 
ticleer.” At the word “Chanticleer” there was such 
a twitter in the trees that only the loud clanging 
of Kingly Eagle’s wing restored order. “I had 
for long been indignant with Chanticleer, because 
he tried to usurp my Kingship in France where I 
had been adored since the days of Julius Caesar. 

“In France Chanticleer became ‘Cock of the 
Walk’ and this is how it happened. A creative 
human looking over a barnyard fence descried the 
vain fowl strutting about, majestically clapping 
his wings and sounding his trump for the amuse¬ 
ment of other greedy, chattering barnyard fowls. 


68 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


The creative human watched his antics, revealing 
many caprices, and remembering that birds some¬ 
times play human roles, he dedicated to Chanti¬ 
cleer a drama full of philosophy. 

“I was indignant, and yet could any creative 
human ever have recorded in dramatic fashion 
my doings, could he have watched me in my soli¬ 
tary eyrie amid dark rolling clouds, or again as 
with fierce beak and talons, I swooped down 
upon my prey, bearing it up to gorge my eaglets, 
or yet again, carrying them boldly upon my strong 
pinions, tempting them by gentle flight to soar. 
There is little social or romantic in my life. Chan¬ 
ticleer with his lusty ringing strains and feet 
planted upon the sod is only an earthly hero, but 
to have formed my drama would have required 
Olympian vision. These facts I have given to ex¬ 
plain my feelings to Chanticleer and to tell you 
that his wireless fills me with joy. Listen to it: 

“ 'Greetings to all—sorry not to be present—but 
as I have to be heard on every occasion I send my 
message. I hear you are holding a political Con- 


KINGLY EAGLE 69 

vention discussing a disputed Kingship. How 
perfectly absurd! Conditions in Birdland seem 
very like those in Folkland with which I am fa¬ 
miliar, for I have been playing a human role. I 
am not one of your typical “Birds of the Ages,” but 
instead devote myself to modern society, though 
there is, I know, in my family a lot of legend and 
ancestry that I might look up if only I had time. 

“ ‘I have never like other birds acquired a set 
song, though as herald of dawn I give great va¬ 
riety to my far-flung clear note—very lustily and 
triumphantly it rings then to the listening world, 
which, at that hour, I have all to myself. “Cock-a- 
doodle-doo!” says alike to Birdland and Folkland, 
“Get up and carry a sunny spirit all the day.” I 
know I am accused of being proud of myself—why 
should I not be boastful when my sole message is 
a “Crow”? And how the dear old “Poet of the 
Dawn” loved to listen to me. “It filled his herte 
with pleasure and solass.” 

“ ‘You must be enjoying some “Spread-Eagle” 
oratory—what boundless sway the Monarch-bird 
has enjoyed through the ages—you would make a 


70 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


great mistake in Birdland if you tried to usurp his 
rule. Just one thing surprises me, that, governing 
over so many lands, he does not willingly concede 
me my honors in France—alas! the more one tri¬ 
umphs the more aspiring he becomes. Good luck 
to you all, but don’t dispute Kingly Eagle’s power. 
It is his by both might and right.’ 

“ ‘Chanticleer.’ 

“And now,” screeched Kingly Eagle, “never¬ 
more will I dispute Chanticleer. He confesses that 
he is boastful. Alas! so are we all. Now for my 
address,” and spreading his pinions and throwing 
back his head he thus began : 

“Why do you deny my Kingship? My superb 
strength and vision are mighty compared to yours. 

“ ‘My gaze alone surveys 
The sun’s meridian splendor.’ 

And am I not typical of power and freedom as I 
go coursing in great spirals over the sky? It is 
possible that I might never have become emblem¬ 
atic had my fierce nature been too closely scruti- 


KINGLY EAGLE 71 

nized; be that as it may, my title in Folkland is as¬ 
sured—whatever your dispute in Birdland. 

“When Jupiter presided over the gods on Mount 
Olympus I was his favorite messenger, perching 
fearlessly on his thunderbolt. I was sacred to 
Vishnu and genii and cherubs were adorned with 
Eagles’ wings; but, lovelier than all, I was em¬ 
blem of Saint John the Divine because of his lofty 
inspirations, and in Holy Art I am soaring with 
him—and other saints when blinded by the sun or 
overtaken by storm have found protection under 
my hovering wings. In ancient times I was ensign 
of the King of Babylon, and when Cyrus of Persia 
conquered that Empire he admired its symbolic 
bird and took it for his own. 

“In Rome I was selected for the Legionary 
standard and cast in bronze, silver, or gold was 
mounted upon a short staff, and though small 
in size I became victorious Eagle of the mighty 
Empire, carried in triumph from East to West, 
from North to South; and when an Emperor died, 
it was I that bore his soul from the flaming cata¬ 
falque up to the gods on Mount Olympus. Rome 


72 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


fell, but I was unconquerable. Constantine, Em¬ 
peror of the East, adopted a double-headed Eagle 
to indicate his sway over both East and West, and 
either single or double I have adorned the stand¬ 
ards of Italy, Austria, Germany and Russia; while 
in the United States I was made in 1782 the na¬ 
tional emblem of liberty, and ever since have 
guarded the banner that waves 

“ ‘O’er the land of the free 
And the home of the brave.’ 

I have laureates, too—to one I soar as the ‘Child of 
Light.’ Another describes my path as 

“ ‘Bold and forth on 
Leaving no trace behind.’ 

One alludes to a superstition regarding my great 
age and describes how every ten years I mount 
into the fiery regions of the sun and there consume 
my old feathers, and then flying into the sea 
emerge with new life: 


KINGLY EAGLE 


73 


“ c An eagle fresh out of the ocean wave, 

Where he hath left his plumes all hoary gray, 

“ ‘And decks himself with feathers youthly gay.’ 

To yet another I am 

“ ‘Playmate of the storm,’ 


“For 

“ ‘When the tempest’s at its loudest, 

On the gale the eagle rides.’ 

And how striking is my vignette drawn by a fa¬ 
mous poet: 

“ ‘He grasps the crag with hooked hands, 
Close to the sun in lonely lands, 

Ringed by the azure world he stands. 

“ ‘The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls, 

He watches from his mountain walls, 

And like a thunderbolt he falls.’ 


74 


CAROL IN BIRDLAND 


“Indeed, my laureates are always immortalizing 
my superb strength, keen vision, care for my eaglets 
and soaring powers. But best of all I am accounted 
true emblem of liberty. I now close my oration 
with a patriotic strain given me by an American 
laureate, and most emphatically the Monarch-Bird 
screeched as follows: 

“ ‘True to his native sky 
Still shall our eagle fly 
Casting his sentinel glances afar, 

Though bearing the olive branch 

Still in his talons staunch 

Grasping the bolts of the thunder of war.’ ” 

The Eagle paused—the Convention was spell¬ 
bound—for a moment not a sound was heard— 
then a twittering and warbling as of a pleasant 
debate, and presently there rang out a chorus: 
“The Eagle is King, the Eagle is King.” His 
Majesty glanced about him, waited until quiet 
was restored, and then added: 

“Thanks for your vote of allegiance and thanks, 


KINGLY EAGLE 


75 

too, for your legends and poems. They have been 
delightful. I elect you all as my Cabinet to as¬ 
sist me in making Birdland a brave, happy, and 
united country, and now as the silver moon is pre¬ 
paring to hang out its great bright orb to light 
sleepy birds to bed, it’s time to close the Conven¬ 
tion. I am glad we have held it. Good night— 
and do not forget our marvelous fancies and your 
united pledge of loyalty.” 

Birdland was again roused by the King’s whir¬ 
ring wings bearing his Majesty swiftly back to his 
eyrie in the giant crag. Then followed a twitter¬ 
ing and pecking and fluttering in the trees, but 
presently the chitter chatter all died away, the wee 
birds all tucked their heads under their wings, soli¬ 
tary Owl was moping on a stump, all was silent 
except the wakeful Nightingale—“and it was 
singing still.” 


GOOD-BY TO CAROL 


J UST one thing more happened, and that’s all, 
for we must not forget inquisitive little 
Carol down in fairy-land listening to the 
musical Convention. 

Now as everything was quiet and Carol was 
hanging her head in utter weariness, the beautiful 
fairy, glistening in the moonlight, appeared. It 
touched Carol with a star-tipped wand and, lo! she 
was again seated on the mossy bank and it was 
broad daylight! In softest tones the fairy said: 

“I have given you, Carol, only the merest 
glimpse into Birdland. May it make you love bet¬ 
ter bird-lore and bird-song, and if you will commit 
to memory some of the lines of the bird-laureates 
they may be to you ‘a joy forever.’ 

With these gentle suggestions the tones of the 
fairy charmer died away as the red coat and scar¬ 
let cap disappeared in the distance. 

76 


GOOD-BY TO CAROL 


77 


Carol gazed about her in wondering surprise as 
she recalled the magic grove and the marvelous 
treasures that it had opened out before her. Nat¬ 
urally she could not understand all the legends 
and poems—what little maiden could? But as 
she trudged away home she resolved to follow the 
fairy’s advice to become more familiar with bird- 
lore and bird-song, and so to enjoy the merry 
sparkling outdoors, alive with many fancies and 
bearing such variety of messages to the little 
people of Folkland. 



“Kindness we bestow and praise, 
Laud their plumage, greet their lays; 
Still beneath their feathered breasts 
Stirs a history unexpressed, 

[Wishes there and feelings strong 
Incommunicably throng; 

What they want we cannot guess.” 


—Matthew Arnold. 



GOOD-BYE 











































































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